Behind the Sweetheart
by bgbgbg7
Summary: Kriss wasn't always the confident sweetheart who America knows. She has struggled with a number of problems in her life. But just when it seems like things can't go on for any longer, Kriss meets a certain prince... Kriss' POV
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

I study my face in the small mirror in my bathroom. Ugh. Frizzy brownish hair, skin broken up by acne, and a colossal nose. It's not like my body is any better. With a wide, chunky figure and no curves, I look like some sort of human bowling ball.

I stand in my bathroom contemplating this fact until Mom bangs on the door. "Come on, Kriss!" she says, her voice clipped and sharp. "I have a class to teach at twelve o'clock!"

A heavy sigh escapes me. I know that she isn't thrilled about me putting my name in for the Selection, and truth be told, I'm not either. I still don't know exactly _why_ I'm doing this. Well, fine, I do. It's all Maleen's fault.

At school the other day, I sat next to Randy at our usual lunch table. The whole school was gossiping about who was applying to be Selected (practically everyone.) Maleen, the mostpopular girl in school, had been giggling behind her hand with her two little followers, Kelli and Emma. They all shared the same princess build: slim waist, slender hips, and practically invisible thighs. They crossed over to our side of the lunch room, and stopped at mine and Randy's table. "So, Kriss, you applying for the Selection?" Maleen asked, her voice full innocence. She put a perfectly formed finger to her lip and stared at me thoughtfully. "But what would you put under the talents section of the application form? Overeating?"

I flushed and stared into my tuna salad as Kelli and Emma giggled. Randy, however, was fuming. "Of course Kriss is applying for the Selection," she stated confidently. "And with her beauty and personality, Prince Maxon would be lucky to have her."

Maleen and her friends tossed their shiny hair and strutted back to their lunch table, but I just stared at Randy. "What are you talking about? I don't want to apply for the Selection! I don't even know anything about the prince!"

"Well, you _have_ to apply now," Randy said with authority. She leaned closer to me. "And honestly? You really are gorgeous."

I blushed. Randy always told me that I look like Queen Amberly. I look nothing like her, except for maybe my hair color. Still, it _is_ nice to hear that I really am pretty once in a while, even when I know that it's not true.

That's what I'm thinking of as I forage in my closet for something nice enough to wear in my Selection application photo. Maybe that blue dress I wore to Randy's party? I pull it off of the hanger and shimmy it up my body. A button in the back is fastened, the zipper is pulled up tight, and I survey my shoe options. Sadly, the most fancy pair I have are plain black flats. I slip them on, push open my bedroom door, and trot downstairs, accompanied by the sound of my shoes on the wooden steps.

Mom is tapping her foot impatiently, her beautiful auburn hair twisted into a tight bun on the top of her head. She definitely isn't the cause of my ugliness. "Finally," she sighs, and yanks me through the door by my arm. I almost lose my balance. "Mom, slow down!" I yell. "Seriously!"

"Okay!" she yells, pulling me along after her. "I'm going to be late for one of my classes just so that I can take you to get a picture taken, so of course I should slow down! Great idea!"

I take a step back and survey her face. She doesn't usually act like this. "Mom," I say soothingly. "Calm down. I can walk myself, if you want."

Mom sighs. "Thank you, Kriss, you're so sweet. Sorry, I'm just really stressed."

She gives me directions to the photo site and hands me my application paper before rushing off to the university where she teaches. My first instinct is to turn right back around and relax in the house all day, but a voice in my head says _No. You are going to march right up there and get your picture taken, and no one is going to ridicule you._

Of course Randy's voice is in my head, even when she isn't around. Still, I feel like I have something to prove now by doing this. It's not about the prince, not like I'm actually going to get chosen. It's an issue of confidence now. And even if I am severely lacking in that department, I'm not going to let the rest of the world think that Kriss Ambers is too scared and insecure to enter the Selection.

I put one foot in front of the other, not daring to believe where I was going until I reach the intimidating, noisy line full of teenage girls. Half of them already look like queens, and none looks anything like me.

 **A/N:** **I know I didn't put in anything about Kriss supporting the Northern Rebels yet, but I'll get to that in the next few chapters. Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** **So this chapter isn't very long, but it sets the stage for longer chapters to come. Also, thank you to everyone who reviewed!**

Chapter 2

I wish that Mom was here. Most of the girls in line have mothers who are fussing over them, dabbing on a bit more lip gloss, straightening crooked hems, pinching cheeks to add color to their faces. I spend a while studying them and trying to figure out why they're bothering to do this. The Selected won't be chosen based on their looks, will they? Has that ever happened? Queen Amberly _is_ extremely beautiful, but King Clarkson must have picked her for reasons other than that. I make a mental note to ask Mom about the king's Selection later.

"Hello?"

I look up to see a tall woman gesturing impatiently for me to sign my application papers. Wow. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I failed to notice the line moving. Blushing, I sign the papers, and the woman ushers me inside the Province of Columbia Services Office. The cold air blasted inside makes me shiver and wish that I had worn a sweater as I sit down at some sort of chair. A man with a camera sits in front of me.

"Smile for the camera, missy," he says, adjusting the lens of his camera.

I am suddenly filled with irrational panic. My smiles are not something that anyone would ever voluntarily choose to see. When I smile, it looks a little bit like a dog baring its teeth. I tentatively raise a corner of my mouth a tiny bit, thinking _As long as I don't show teeth, I'm okay. Just don't show teeth. Don't…_

Behind the photographer, the woman who had escorted me inside bites her extremely long fingernail, a bad habit, I assume. I used to do that when I was little until Dad reprimanded me harshly. The woman's fingernail _pops off_ , and she stares at it in surprise. Now I can see that it's one of those fingernail extensions that people sometimes attach to their nails. The situation is so comical, with the woman staring in complete shock down at her hand, that I have to laugh. A blinding light hits me right in the eyes, hard, and I blink.

"Next!" the photographer calls. He took the picture? I really hope that he didn't catch my laugh. Why didn't I keep my mouth closed?

The woman blinks, a bit flustered, and gestures for me to leave. I do so willingly, and arrive at home with the afternoon sun still lazily hanging in the sky. As I recline on my bed, enjoying my freedom (school was canceled today), I think about this new sense of achievement that has filled me. I accomplished something that Maleen and her friends never thought that I could do.

I am almost able to conveniently forget that entering the Selection means anything more than proving myself to be brave. However, I have a strange feeling that I won't be entitled to that luxury for much longer.

 **A/N:** **Thanks for reading! Please review, and feel free to leave constructive criticism!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I realized that I forgot a disclaimer so…**

 **DISCLAIMER:** **I do not own the Selection series or any of the characters used in it. Only in my dreams.**

I'm in my room staring at my math homework. Solve for x? How am I _supposed_ to solve for x? And it doesn't make it any easier when they add in a y, either.

I'm about to go downstairs and ask Mom or Dad for some assistance with this problem (one of the benefits of being the daughter of two teachers: homework help is always available), but I hear a knock on my door before I can do anything else. The door swings open before I can even say to come in. Honestly, doesn't that defeat the purpose of knocking? Mom stands awkwardly in the door frame.

"Oh, Mom," I say, relieved, "Can you help me with this one math problem here?"

"Actually," she responds, one hand still on the doorknob, "I thought you might want to come downstairs. The _Report_ is on, and Gavril is declaring the Selected tonight."  
I nod and follow Mom downstairs. I'm glad that Maleen hadn't heard that I forgot when the Selected were being announced; I'd never hear the end of it.

"Are you nervous, Kriss?" Dad asks as I settle next to him on the couch in front of the television.

I'm about to answer that yes, I am nervous, when I stop and consider the question. The truth is… I'm actually not nervous. I kind of feel invincible, like there's no way that I could get picked, since I entered for my own confidence, not the prince. I decide to tell Dad "I guess," and leave it at that.

Mom flicks on the television, and we are immediately greeted by an image of Gavril Fadaye, dressed in his distinctive suit with the North Star pin on his lapel. I nudge Dad and point at the star, and we grin at each other. It's nice to know that we have such important and famous people supporting the Northern Rebel cause.

We must have started watching late, because Gavril is already talking to the royal family. "Good evening, Your Majesty," Gavril says in a pleasant tone.

"Gavril, always good to see you," the king replies with a thin-lipped smile

"Looking forward to the announcement?" Gavril inquired.

"Ah, yes," the king says, a more genuine smile now crossing his face. "I was in the room yesterday as a few were drawn; all very lovely girls."

Hmm. I wonder if they _were_ picked with regard to beauty.

"So you know who they are already?" Gavril asks, looking eager for the answer.

The king waves his hand about. "Just a few, just a few."

Gavril now turns to the prince, who is seated in a smaller throne-like chair between the queen and his the king. "Did he happen to share any of this information with you, sir?"

"Not at all," the prince replies awkwardly. His face appears flushed, and it's easy to tell that he's not comfortable with this situation. "I'll see them when everyone else does."

Gavril next directs his attention towards the queen. "Your Majesty, any advice for the Selected?" I can hear his respect for the queen in his tone.

The queen tilts her head to the side and smiles. "Enjoy your last night as an average girl. Tomorrow, no matter what, your life will be different. And it's old advice, but it's good: be yourself."

"Wise words, my queen, wise words," Gavril praises. "And with that," he continues, "let us reveal the thirty-five young women chosen for the Selection. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in congratulating the following Daughters of Illéa."

In houses across the country, teenage girls are probably gripping their parents' hands and squealing with fear. In my house, we sit in silence.

Gavril glances down at a card in his hand and reads "Miss Elayna Stokes of Hansport, Three." A picture of a cheerful girl with black hair and tanned skin fills the screen. She's pretty. Prince Maxon's smile looks a bit forced, however.

"Miss Tuesday Keeper of Waverly, Four," Gavril continues. This one is slender and smoky-eyed. She's really pretty.

"Miss Fiona Castley of Paloma, Three." She's super skinny and gorgeous. Are they doing this just to taunt me?

"Miss America Singer of Carolina, Five." Big surprise, she's _also_ pretty. At this point, I'm positive that the competition is rigged.

"Miss Mia Blue of Ottaro, Three."

"Miss Celeste Newsome of Clermont, Two."

"Miss Clarissa Kelly of Belcourt, Two."

Gavril's voice drones on and on as pictures of various girls pop up on the screen. I'm about to turn around and ask Mom what time it is when I hear "Kriss Ambers of Columbia, Three."

I whip my head around to face the television. Yes, there's that picture of me smiling- baring my teeth, really, but the point is that _I'm on the screen_. Mom screams in shock, and Dad just looks confused, and I do not believe this. I wasn't supposed to be picked. I wasn't entering for the prince. What's happening? Am I dreaming?

The sound of the telephone ringing jerks me back to my senses. I reach over Mom and pick it up.

"OH MY GOD KRISS YOU'RE IN THE SELECTION I KNEW IT OH MY GOD!" It's Randy.

"They weren't picking based on looks, after all," I mumble, feeling a little overwhelmed with this whole situation.

"What?" she asks, her voice a little distorted. I'm about to answer when I notice that my parents are still sitting on the couch, looking shell-shocked. "Um- I'll call you back later," I quickly reply, and then hang up.

Mom glances over at me with a kind of wariness. "Kriss… are you sure you want to do this?" Mom's eyebrows are clumped together the way that they always get when she's unsure about something. The phone rings behind her. Maybe Randy calling back, maybe someone else calling because I'm now famous. That word strikes me. _Famous_.

Do I want to do this? A few minutes ago, being a part of the Selection wasn't even a possibility in my mind. But now that I have the chance… I'm not sure. For some reason, an image of Maleen's sneering face fills my mind. How amazing would it be to prove to her, just once, that I'm actually worthy of a prince's attention?

"Yes," I tell Mom. "I want to be a part of the Selection."

 **A/N:** **I'm really sorry I took so long to post, I've just been a little busy. I'll try to update a little more frequently in the future. Also, a big thanks to everyone who has reviewed!**


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